The color of the rolling hills
Is changing as the seasons pass.
The stalks of corn which once were green
Are joined by gold;
Emerging tassels all throughout
Are dappling vistas with their hue.
With wonder giv'n by God above
I soak it in.
What wondrous love it is to give
Such beauty to his sons below.
How glorious to make such art
A glorious yield.